


When You Are Gone

by Enigma



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Grief, M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enigma/pseuds/Enigma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian watches John grieve through the scope of his sniper rifle and plays with the idea of how pretty he would be with a bullet in his head. If only they weren't so damn similar he can't tell where one soldier ends and another begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Move

A man moves into an empty flat opposite 221b Baker Street in the early fall when the trees are shredding their auburn leaves.  
He is a tall man with a constantly dissatisfied brow and a stubble casting shadow on his face. He walks with a straight back, squared shoulders and a head held high as a soldier. His hands are strong and brutal, but precise in their every movement.  
Every visible inch of him is covered with scars, the most dominant of them cuts his right eyebrow in half and narrowly avoids his eye as it continues its pink trail down his cheek.  
He rents the flat with a fake name, fake credit cards. He makes minimal eye contact with his landlord, makes no attempt at socialization with his neighbors. He prefers to be anonymous regardless of circumstances, but for this operation it is vital. He may be seen but not noticed, walking like a shadow among the living.  
Sebastian Moran is shrinking. Little by little, day by day, he is fading away. He forgets to eat sometimes. He used to be much stronger, his defined muscles fighting against his shirts, but now everything he wears is too big for him. His clothes are too big, his days are too long, nothing seems to fit him. He feels like Alice in Wonderland, eating Eat Me cakes and Drink Me potions and still always, always, out of place. Like a drummer who can't hold his rhythm, he is constantly out of sync with his surroundings.  
It is unprofessional. He knows this, and yet he can't pull himself together. He doesn't eat, and he either sleeps all day or not at all. He can't even get enough grip on himself to do his laundry, so his clothes are dirty and stained. He smells like a two day old corpse, and his profession has given him the experience to make that informed comparison. Taking care of himself has proved too difficult a task, so how can he trust himself to deal with the man across the street?  
The man across the street sits in 221b staring at an empty chair. He cries sometimes, but even when he's alone he tries to do so silently. His landlady shows up sometimes with a concerned look on her face and brings him biscuits and tea. Whenever she leaves again, she hesitates at the door, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other as though she wants to help but doesn't know how. Then she leaves again and returns later with more tea, more useless words of condolence. He nods at her and gives her half-hearted smiles that fade away the moment she looks away.  
She used to come and tidy a bit up in the flat when it got out of hand, but one day she returns to the flat to find the whole thing like the wreckage of a bomb. Sebastian witnessed him when he snapped, throwing around books and kettles and laptops, pulling down shelves and ripping off cupboard doors while he shouts at the top of his lungs. Afterwards he ends up on the floor in the fetal position, sobbing until he falls asleep there. After that the landlady's attempts at helping him seem more hopeless than ever.  
Sebastian watches him at his every waking hour. He sits at the back of his darkened room caressing the metal with the sensitive tip of his fingers. He marvels at how close his target is, how vulnerable he is where he sits by the large window in a well-lit room. The back of his head teases him, compels him to take action.  
Sebastian Moran watches John Watson through the scope of his sniper rifle all day long and one of these days he's gonna pull the trigger.


	2. Eat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John doesn't eat and Sebastian becomes desperate.

A sniper rifle really wouldn't be necessary at this distance. Sebastian could pierce his head with a handgun from here without any sort of serious difficulty, but there is something calming about the familiar weapon in his hands. Its dull metal is cold under his touch as he teases the trigger playfully. Safety is on but not a minute goes by without imagining the details of his gory revenge. 

He has moved the flat's sparse furniture around to form a hiding place for him in the back of the room, where he lies on his stomach, sealed from the eyes of his target. His stomach is growling like a beast, and Sebastian can't help but wonder is it can be heard across the street in the windy autumn weather. 

John Watson sits in his lonely chair in his deserted flat as usual. He read a book half an hour ago, but halfway through he suddenly stood up and threw the book at a wall before sinking back into the chair with a hopeless sigh. Now he just stares out at nothing in particular, shaking ever so slightly in his entire body. Sebastian can see that his jaw is clenched, but is trying not to let it show. John gets up and collects his coat and his wallet, but stops even before he gets his shoes on and walks back to the chair. 

It's been almost a week since he's been out of the flat. The last few days he has been trying to get himself out of the door to get some groceries, but he hasn't been successful. The landlady hasn't been to see him in a few days. She might be out of town. 

Sebastian's stomach interrupts his speculations with a loud growl. He tries to ignore it for a while but somehow manages to get up and fetch a half-eaten packet of biscuits that is lying in the corner from last night's dinner. 

He nips on one, then stuffs his head with three at once. He glances over at the flat across the street. John doesn't move. Sebastian's brow tenses. 

He returns to his rifle and lies down to take a look through the scope. Sighs. He goes through the last few days of John's life in his head and comes to the conclusion that he hasn't eaten for two days.  
"You can't just starve yourself to death," Sebastian mutters under his breath with a hint of worry. "What would be the fun in that."

He paces around the room impatiently for a while, casting constant glances at the flat on the opposite side of the road. 

"Come on, you little fuck, get your shit together," he mumbles frustratingly before finally collapsing on the remnants of a sofa he tore apart almost a week ago. 

John's death was his revenge. Killing him would be the penance that would set him free again. 

Sebastian had led him kill himself. He had been right there beside him while he faded away into nothing, into less than that. He had been there, right beside him in his bed, when he woke up screaming and cried for hours. He should've done more, done better. He should've loved him so much that he would've been loved back. He should've saved him from himself. The only reason he couldn't was because he was too weak. It was his fault he was gone. It was Sebastian's fault Jim had killed himself. 

No. He can't think like that. It was Watson and Holmes' fault. The stupid games they had played. Sebastian remembers the night Jim came home and nuzzled into him in bed, whispering Holmes' name over and over again until it rang like chiming bells in Sebastian's head for weeks on end.  
Holmes and Watson took his lover's life.  
Holmes is already down, although not by Sebastian's hand. When he takes down Watson he will be forgiven.

Sebastian sighs heavily and puts down the sniper rifle and the biscuits. He looks through the mess in the flat, throwing around whatever lies in his way until he finds the disposable cell phone under the innards of the couch.  
He dials up and waits impatiently for it to be picked up.  
Someone finally does.  
"I'd like a pizza. A number 21. Large, please. Yes, I would like that prepaid."  
He taps his foot impatiently on the floor while talking to the teenage pizza boy on the phone.  
"Delivered to 221b Baker Street. No, two-two-one bravo. Yes. Thanks."  
Sebastian hangs up and tosses the phone in the corner. He sits down and stares intensely at John in the opposite flat.


	3. Talk

Sebastian watches 221b intensely when the pizza arrives, seeing John use a full two minutes moving the few feet to the door. He can't hear them speak, but he can't see them both slightly confused, the deliverer sighing heavily when he realizes he must've gotten the wrong address. John quickly gets exhausted with the whole thing and accepts the pizza, giving the boy what he has in his pockets as tips.   
When he is alone he first hesitates, but soon he is swallowing the whole damn pizza like a lion eating a gazelle. Sebastian catches himself smiling a crooked smile.   
"This is what you've fucking done to me, Jim." he whispers to himself. "I'm a bloody guardian angel, ain't I?"   
The silence answers him mockingly. He pretends he doesn't hear it.   
"I'll be rescuing orphans from fires before you know it."  
He tenses up as he is forced to listen to the screaming nothingness in his flat. He is suddenly very aware of the void between his four walls. Jim doesn't answer him back. He gets up and leaves the room with the sniper rifle before he thinks too deeply about it.  
Before he leaves he casts a glance at the half-emptied package of biscuits in the corner, realizing that today he has done more for the wellbeing of his target than of himself. That must be the qualification for the world's worst assassin.   
In a gesture he found to display the perfect balance between resignation and self control, he grabs his coat and heads out of the door and into the cold air outside, on his way to fetch some fish n chips.


	4. Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Action must be taken.

Days pass in the flat across the street. Weeks.  
He hasn't shot John Watson yet and as time passes the thought seems further away. He came here with a simple, straightforward purpose. He is going to settle the flames in his chest, make peace with them again. He isn't going to make some stupid, over-complicated plan out of it like Jim would've done. He had never intended to sit around every night for weeks on end putting photographs and documents and string on the wall, connecting them together into a map of his mad mind. Jim planned out every possible stepping stone, carefully mapping out plans M and P.  
But it was all to grand, to unfathomable. This isn't. It is beautifully uncomplicated.  
Sebastian is gonna shoot John Watson. That is the entire plan. Foolproof.  
And yet, he hasn't done it. He keeps postponing it, until he starts to consider if he even wants him dead at all.  
He doesn't know how else to stop this black hole growing in his chest. 

He hasn't brought pizza more than that one time but he tries to help him anyhow. Paying someone to bring him flowers. Dropping fliers about therapy sessions on the sidewalk before he walks out, sliding them under the door. 

One day Sebastian does something very stupid. It's a Wednesday afternoon and as usually he watches his intended target through the scope of his sniper rifle. Watson is about to walk out the door when a sudden spontaneity hits Sebastian so hard he can't contain it.  
He flies up from the torn-apart couch and grabs his coat from the floor. When he walks past his mirror on the way out he fixes a couple of stray hairs on his head. His t shirt smells revolting so he tosses it off and is pulling another, slightly cleaner one over his head when he leaves his flat.  
He follows Watson, keeping distance between them and hiding amongst background pedestrians. He walks into a cafe and gets takeaway coffee and a Danish. When he leaves the shop, Sebastian decides to strike.  
He bumps into him on the sidewalk.  
"Oh, for fuck's sake..." John breathes quietly, coffee all over his scarf. He's about to walk away without a word, when Sebastian puts a gloved hand on his shoulder.  
"Sorry, mate, didn't see ya there." he apologizes, keeping his voice light and casual. "You okay?"  
Watson nods, mumbling something.  
"So sorry. You can have mine, it's too cold to be without."  
Sebastian pulls off his scarf and holds it out towards Watson who seems a little perplexed, making more eye contact with the pavement than the stranger.  
"Then you shouldn't be without."  
"Fair point," Sebastian admits and flashes his friendly smile. Jim used to snap at him when he did that in his presence, but Sebastian could always catch him staring a little longer, a little brighter when he did, so he did so as often as he could. "I should probably..." he gestures at the cafe behind them. "You know, I do sort of owe you a coffee..."  
"No, no, it's fine." Watson says. "You don't, I'll just -"  
"Can I buy you a coffee?" Sebastian says nonchalantly, but Watson looks up at him with a strange glow in his eyes.  
"Yeah, sure."  
"Great."

Watson has a latte, Sebastian takes it black. He makes small talk with his target while trying to keep his hands from shaking. It is all so spontaneous that he has not yet considered that this is the longest conversation he has had with anyone since Jim went away.  
"So why did you end up here?" John asks after Sebastian has interrogated him on the same topic. Sebastian sees an opportunity and takes it.  
"Well, I was just walking home after a session of group therapy," he says as casually as it can be said.  
"Group therapy?" John asks, eyebrow slightly lifted in confusion.  
"Yeah, I lost my sister a while back. It's very helpful for dealing and stuff." Sebastian says, taking a sip of his coffee so John will have time to process it.  
"Yeah, I considered something similar..." he mumbles.  
"You've lost someone?" he asks, without letting it show that he probably knows more about Holmes' death than John does.  
"I did. But I don't think I could do it though..."  
"Yes, you can. I recommend it wholeheartedly." He puts a hand in his pocket and retrieves a card he's nicked from someone a while back. "Here, you can have my therapist's number."  
John hesitates for a moment, not courageous enough to reach out his hand and take it.  
"You don't have to do anything about it, just take the card."  
John takes it, stuffing it in his pocket and sending suspicious glances around him, like he was afraid one of the disinterested other customers might see it.  
"Well, I might anyway." he says, seeming to relax after the card has been put out of sight. A crooked smile indicates that he is desperate for his companion to find him compelling. "I have a lot of free time on my hands."  
"How come?"  
"Well, there's just - It was when. My-my friend..."  
"It's okay, man, don't stress it," Sebastian says worriedly. John is twisting his hands, digging his nails into his skin. Sebastian reaches over the table and grabs his hand for comfort. Silence. He takes his hand away again, trying to make it seem casual.  
John finds the courage to speak again. "I don't have a lot planned, is all I'm saying."  
"What do you have planned? ... You don't have to answer that."  
"No, it's fine. I have my cousin's wedding in a couple of months and that's it." He laughs, hoping that by making his misery a joke it might not seem so devastating.  
"Do you watch sports?" Sebastian asks, guiding the topic into safer territory.  
They talk for a little while and exchange numbers, although Sebastian's is fake. Right before they are about to leave, Sebastian looks him in the eye and asks him seriously to call the therapist. Then they leave, Sebastian purposefully walking the wrong way and doesn't return to the flat until he's sure he won't be spotted.  
The whole ordeal was risky and sentimental. Jim would've never have approved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u leave reviews i will love you forever tell no one


	5. Recover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> External help.

Time passes in the flat on the opposite side of Baker Street. It has never been Sebastian's intention. The whole world seems to be something that happens to him and makes him nothing but an observer. So that is what he does. He observes John Watson, first through the scope, then through binoculars, then with his naked eye hiding behind the dark curtains.   
He feels drawn to the man. His endless, eventless days remind him so much of himself a few months back that he can't take his eyes off him. But Sebastian has improved since then. Tiny, fumbling step upon step. Getting back to sleeping, eating regularly. The world seeming a little less grey as time went on. But nothing seems to improve the existence of the former army doctor.   
Sebastian tells himself that as soon as John gets better he will shoot him, but with each day he becomes more and more aware of the lie he is telling himself. His weapon has been hidden away in its case, and he fears it will rust before he shoots Watson.   
His newfound compassion frightens him to the very core of his being. It is truly unknown to him and he fears its sudden arrival. Has he changed so much in these past few months, that he has been made unrecognizable?   
He feels guilty. Everywhere Sebastian looks he can feel Jim's pining eyes on him, disappointed with the sniper he handpicked and trained as the most ruthless killer of them all.   
Yet Sebastian fears he has done more than just disappoint his late boss. He has betrayed him in some way, but he can't put his finger on why, can't tell why staring at Watson makes him want to hide in the shadows from his former lover.   
Sebastian will never in his life admit to a living soul that he has fallen for his target, but maybe he will whisper it to Jim late at night when his guard has been brought down by fatigue. Maybe he will be sick on the floor and when he goes to sleep prays to God he is drunk enough to forget his nightly realisation.

 

But as the days pass, a plan forms in Sebastian's head. It isn't on purpose, but the plan sprouts up in his otherwise so barren mind.   
And one day, he picks up his phone and makes a call. It's to an old colleague who works with research under Moriarty. He owes Sebastian a favor, and thus he can't refuse when he is asked for information about a wedding being held at an unknown time in the upcoming months. He is given the information he needs.  
What Sebastian sets out to do has never been his job before. He was just the assassin, the ace up Jim's sleeve, one tiny part of a greater operation. Now everything that must be done must be done by his own hand.   
He needs to be able to add a guest to the wedding, John is attending in a couple of weeks. It is the only way of ensuring a meeting that seems casual. He needs someone. He has been alone too long in a flat that is too grey and empty for such broken a mind.   
Sebastian trades in favors, threatens, blackmails. Eventually he gets what he wants. He can add someone to the guest list, place them next to John during the dinner. He has the opportunity to pull him out of the water he is drowning in.  
"Yes. Get me the seat beside John Watson. That is of vital importance. Good. Yes. Mor- M-O-R... Yes, like that. Good. Call this number when it is done."  
He hangs up his phone, but holds it in his hands for a long moment, gliding his fingers across its screen, feeling the scratches under his fingertips. Considering his decision. Then he catches a glance to the other side of the street and sees Watson bursting into tears while making tea.   
He calls. The very last phone call, the last favor.   
Having been an assassin for two decades, Sebastian knows a minimum of people and they are almost exclusively people he has somehow met through his job. That is to say, they are all killers and crooks. Experience has taught him that not a single one can be trusted. Well, except one. An assassin he used to work with back in the day. Someone who got out of it. Evidence, that some people truly are driven by their kind hearts and not their cold ambition.   
When someone picks up the phone he explains what he needs. The other end is silent, listening carefully to instructions.  
"I need... I need you to show up to that wedding. Chat him up. Take care of him. By any and all necessary means." His voice is shaking more than he is willing to admit.   
"I don't do that kind of thing anymore." she tells him. "You know that."  
"No, you misunderstand him. You will protect him, nurse him back to health. His wellbeing will be your paramount priority. "  
"I never thought you could be so kind-hearted, Seb." Her voice almost trails out. A careful smile can be heard through the phone.   
"But I know you are, Mary. I need you to do this for me. Just, just meet him, okay? Befriend him. Anything."  
"I will see to it. For old times' sake."  
"Thank you, Mary Morstan..


End file.
